Schmeckled

 

         “Why did you hang up on me?” the woman inside the phone says. Her voice sounds familiar. It has a metallic taste.

     “I didn’t hang up on you,” I say, which is true. I don’t know what she’s talking about.

     “Don’t treat me like I’m dumb. I’m not that dumb!” she says and I suddenly realize she sounds like my great-grandmother Judith, only meaner.  But since Granny Judy died ten years ago, it’s probably not her.

     “I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number,” I say, which is true.

     “I said not to treat me like I’m dumb! I’m not dumb!”

     I begin to wonder. “Sorry,” I say and hang up on her, sort of again.

     I think, Boy, the real guy who hung up on her is going to get an earful now!

     The phone rings again. I stare at it through five rings and then pick up. I do so with great trepidation.

     “Hello?”

     “Listen, you ungrateful bastard,” she says, sounding more metallic, less Granny Judy. “You may think you can treat me like this, with all your high falutin’ money. But I’m a person! You can’t walk all over me! I’m a human being!”

    I’m momentarily shocked into speechlessness. She’s supremely pissed. I gird my loins and tell her, “Look, I’m sorry but you really do have the wrong number.” I’m starting to feel sorry for her. I could be a wise-ass and prank her, pretend I’m the guy she’s calling and give her shit but she’s just a confused old woman. My mean-streak has mellowed over the years.

     So I do the unthinkable. I hang up on her for the third (2^nd) time.

     I was on my way out but now I can’t leave. I sit down to watch the phone.

     It doesn’t ring.

     It doesn’t ring again. Maybe she finally gave up. Or maybe she finally dialed the right number. That poor schmuck.

     It doesn’t ring again. I stand up, ready to head out. Halfway to the door and the phone starts up again. I should just let it ring, let the machine pick it up if she makes it to seven rings.

     On ring six I lurch for the phone and pick up. “Hello?”

     “YOU FUCKING DIE!” she shrieks and I slam the phone down.

     Okay, I’ve had enough; I’ve got troubles of my own. I don’t need telephone drama from perfect strangers. There was something obviously wrong with the woman. She might have dementia, schizophrenia, who knows? She was obviously in deep distress and calling me wasn’t helping things at all. I grab my keys.

     And the phone rings.  

     Oh no.

     I move toward it. Another ring. I stand there. Another ring. I stand there.

     Another ring.

     Oh fuck it! “Hello?”

     “The calls are coming from INSIDE the house!” screeches out at me followed by uproarious laughter. “You’ve just been schmeckled!” And a horn honks and another voice says, “I didn’t hang up on you!” mimicking me. I slam the phone down.

    But I smile as I don my jacket. That was a pretty good prank.

     I guess the joke’s on me.